Rise of the House of Prospero
by Whakamol
Summary: Harry Potter has been engaged for his entire life, and has only just found out. Now he has to deal with the political machinations of his future father-in-law, a sordid family history, Ministry meddling, all while trying to salvage the wreckage of his social life and woo his socially awkward bride-to-be. Life is grand, isn't it?
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter, sometimes known as the Boy who Lived, was having a bad day.

"Look Ron, maybe it doesn't matter if you don't have a date, but what happens if I don't? Am I supposed to open the dance by myself?"

Ronald Weasley shrugged, "What are they going to do? Disqualify you?"

"I wish. Then I'd be done with this stupid competition," Harry said bitterly.

"My point still stands," said Ron.

"Did you hear McGonagall? I _have _to open the dance!" said Harry furiously.

"Hmm," Ron mused, "That is a real bummer."

"Yeah," Harry said grimly.

"I'm not really jealous of you anymore, mate," Ron said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks Ron." He looked around the Dining Hall at the hundreds of gathered students. A large number of them were pretty girls. All he had to do was find one willing to go with him. It couldn't be that hard. After all, hadn't several straight out asked him to take them?

"We could ask Lavender and Parvati," said Ron pointedly. Harry shook his head. Ron sighed.

"I really think Hermione and Ginny did this on purpose, you know? Just to make things unnecessarily difficult?"

Inconveniently for Ron, Hermione sat next to Harry at that exact moment. She stared icily at Ron before turning to Harry, "What about one of the girls from the other houses, Harry?"

Harry paused. He hadn't thought of that.

"Who?" he asked.

Hermione nodded towards the Hufflepuffs, "Both Susan Bones and Ramona Raker are free, and from what I've heard, they'd be perfectly fine with you asking. There's Padma Patil over in Ravenclaw in our year, and Joyce Malone in the year below, they both have crushes on you Harry. And in Slytherin…"

Ron forgot his feud with Hermione in an instant. "Harry's not going with any Slytherin girl!" he said hotly.

Hermione snorted, "Ron, do you honestly think they are all that bad?"

"No, but why take chances?" said Ron, looking at Hermione as though she had suggested Harry ask the giant squid.

"He has a point," said Harry. He paused, "Padma Patil has a crush on me? And Joyce Malone? Who is Joyce Malone anyways?"

Hermione nodded impatiently, "Joyce is the brunette girl with glasses sitting next to Terry Boot. And Ron does not have a point. Not all Slytherins are bad."

"But lots of them are, Hermione! We have no idea which ones are and which ones aren't! I mean, statistically, is that a risk worth taking?" Ron argued, waving his spoon around.

Hermione paused in lifting her fork full of pudding to her mouth. "Ron," she said, raising an eyebrow, "Are you using logic to argue with me?"

"Huh?" said Ron.

"Will you two cut it out?" Neville Longbottom suddenly barked from across the table. Neville glowered at Hermione and Ron for a moment before going on, "I am sick of you two arguing all the time! Everybody is!"

Ron and Hermione didn't know what to say. After a moment Hermione gathered her wits and sniffed indignantly. "Neville Longbottom, I…"

Neville shook his head, "Whatever. Look, I've gotta run. See you around." He stood and left with a brief wave.

"You know, he's changed a lot since we first met him," said Harry thoughtfully. He looked at his two friends, who were still taken aback. "He's right you know. You two argue a lot."

Hermione raised her nose and glared at Harry, "What are you talking about Harry?"

"Never mind. Forget I ever said anything. But seriously, you two should work things out. I've got to go and get ready for my next class," Harry said, shoving the last of his dinner into his mouth. He was gone before either could muster a reply.

As he exited the hall, he noticed someone was following behind him. He turned a corner and kept walking. Without slowing, they continued to follow him. He picked up his pace.

"Potter!"

With a sigh he turned. He saw the person following him was a tall chestnut haired girl wearing Slytherin robes. If her face hadn't been overcome with annoyance, he would have said she was very pretty. He remembered seeing her in Potions, Tracey Davis if he remembered correctly.

"What?" he said, bracing himself for the worst.

"We need to talk," she snapped, grabbing his wrist. He resisted the urge to jerk away and let her lead him aside.

"Look, its Davis right?" he said as she pulled him along, "I don't know what you want, but I don't have any time for this." He glanced around anxiously for any signs of an ambush.

They came to stop, and she turned to face him, "Just listen to me."

"I can do that, but…"

She cut over him, "Shut up and let me finish. For four years we have gone to school together. I know that we're in different houses, but seeing as we have less than a month till the wedding, it's getting a bit ridiculous! You can't just keep ignoring me or my dad."

Stunned, he stepped back. "Wha-?"

She followed him,. "Now we have less than three weeks and my parents are breathing down my neck. What the hell are you playing at?" She punctuated each word with a solid jab from her finger to his chest. He was growing frightened.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're think you are funny, don't you?" Tracey said menacingly, "Well, I don't know what sort of joke this is to you Potter, but I don't have time for this. The wedding is getting closer every day, and from the way things are not coming together, I am beginning to wonder if you are actually trying to back out! That's not an option Potter!"

Harry cycled through his memories, trying to recall any weddings he had been invited to. Nope, nothing.

"Wedding? What wedding?" he said, shaking his head in confusion. She narrowed her eyes.

"You are a real wanker!" she hissed.

In spite of himself, he grabbed her shoulders, and she immediately tensed. He wisely let go. "What wedding are you talking about?" he asked earnestly.

"Look Pott…Harry…oh, forget it! It's your own damned wedding, so don't try to be cute!" she snarled, looking quite ready to tear his eyes out.

Harry's mouth dropped, "My wedding? That's not possible! Who am I even getting married to?"

He did not see the slap coming but he certainly felt it after the fact. Stunned, he stepped away from the furious girl.

"Bugger off!" she snarled. She whirled and began walking away.

"Wait!" he cried, causing a few other students to turn their heads. He ignored them and grabbed her hand. She yanked it from his grip and turned to face him, her eyes brimming with tears, much to his dismay.

"What?!" she said angrily, wiping her tears away.

"Please, I'm sorry..." Harry struggled to find the right words, "I really don't know what you're talking about. Please explain."

For a moment he was sure she was going to hex him, but then her shoulders fell. She sighed, "How can this be happening?"

Unsure of what to say, Harry opted to say nothing. Tracey looked at him and then turned to look out a window. It was a moment before she began to talk.

"Nineteen years ago Charlus Potter, your father's father, and Anthony Belmont, my mother's father, arranged a marriage to join their families together. Initially your father was going to wed my mother, but he mucked it up by marrying your muggleborn mother and was disowned. Of course the original betrothal was sealed with by the traditional Unbreakable vow and since your father was no longer a member of the family, the conditions passed onto you when you were born. And since my mother was married before you were born, well, the conditions for her passed onto me."

Harry was having a hard time following, but he got the general idea, and it was playing havoc with his mind. Tracey turned to look at him. "Does any of that sound familiar?" she said helplessly.

Harry couldn't help but stare. At last he managed to form a coherent thought and spit it out.

"So I'm supposed to marry…you?"

She sighed, "That is correct."

"Oh," said Harry.

Tracey looked at him disbelief, "You never knew, did you? Harry, how is that even possible?"

"Look ," said Harry, running a hand through his hair and trying to suppress the rising panic, "To be honest…I don't know why you thought I would. I never knew my parents, or my grandparents. In fact I was eleven years old when I first met a wizard."

Tracey was now staring. "You can't be serious," she said.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Harry said.

Tracey stared at him flatly, before putting her hand to her forehead and sighing. Disconcerted, Harry opened his mouth but she raised her other hand for silence. After a good thirty seconds, she lowered her hand and looked him in the eyes.

"Harry, what do you know about your family?" she said.

He frowned, "I know plenty."

"Just tell me what you know."

"Fine," he said, feeling a bit offended, "My dad came from a rich family, no siblings, and married my mum during the war. Then I was born, and Voldemort murdered them both."

She shook her head slowly, "We're going to take a walk. We need to discuss so much."

"But class…"

"You can make it up. At the moment this is much more important," she said, smoothing her skirt. She began walking, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he followed her.

"I suppose I should start at the very beginning," she said, "In 943, Rickard Potter was born…"

In the Griffindor common room, Hermione thoughtfully tapped her chin before jotting down a few corrections on Ron's parchment. He watched over her shoulder, shaking his head, "Hermione, you're a real life saver."

She made another correction, "Thank you Ron, though I still can't believe I'm doing this."

"It's why we talked things out right? I mean without you I was practically failing all my classes…"

Turning to look up at him she frowned. "Is this all I am to you? A glorified spell-checker?"

He grinned, "Of course."

"Well," she said, rolling her eyes, "I appreciate your honesty at least."

His smile fell, "It was a joke!"

"Oh really? I would never have guessed. Silly me."

Ron scratched his ear, "Sarcasm doesn't suit you much."

"Hmm," she muttered, scratching out another word, "What does?"

Ron paused, opening his mouth and then closing it. "Beats me," he said at last, "But I do know that I do appreciate you and all you have done for me. And I really did miss just being friends."

Hermione's pen stopped scratching, "Speaking of friends, where is Harry? I haven't seem him since dinner."

Ron frowned, "I'm not sure."

At that moment Parvati Patil interrupted, "I saw him with Tracey Davis. She was leading him off somewhere."

"Isn't she a Slytherin?" said Ron with horror.

"Well yes," said Parvati.

"Oh no," whispered Ron.

Understanding dawned on Parvati's face. "It's a trap!" she gasped.

Hermione threw the pen down and glared at Parvati and Ron with equal measures of disgust. "Honestly," she said, "What is with this Slytherphobia? I'm sure she's a perfectly nice girl. I'm sure she wasn't trying to trick him or whatever you think it is. She probably wants him to take her to the Yule Ball."

At that moment Neville walked in. He looked at the three of them curiously, "What's going on now?"

"Harry was off with some Slytherin girl, and now Ron and Parvati are worried that she's going to kill him," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Tracey Davis isn't going to kill him," said Ron hotly, "All of the Slytherins are going to! It's a classic trick, lure them in with a pretty face and then tear them apart!"

"Besides," Parvati appealed, "Can we take that chance? I'll go get Lavender."

"Good idea," said Ron as he stood, "Where are Dean and Seamus? Between all of us, we can take them."

"Seriously?" hissed Hermione, jumping to her feet, "You're going to start a war the way you're going at it!"

Neville's laugh caused all three to look at him in confusion. He grinned as he spoke, "It's probably not that. The two of them are supposed to get married next month. I'll bet they are just ironing out the details. "

There was a moment of perfect silence before a unanimous "What?"

Neville looked confused for a moment before snapping his fingers, "Forgot. No one is supposed to know that. Not even me. Forget I said anything."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. "If no one is supposed to know…how would Harry know?" said Hermione hesitantly.

"Yeah," agreed Ron, "No offense to him, but he doesn't know anything."

"You're probably right," mused Neville. He looked at the three of them, "What?"

"Neville," said Hermione, "Explain everything."

For a second he almost protested, before heaving a sigh of defeat. "Okay, I'll start at the very beginning. In 943, Rickard Potter was born…"

"Neville, for the sake of time, I think we can agree that that is a bit far back."

"Umm, yes, I suppose you're right. So it all began about thirty years ago…"

Elsewhere, Harry exited an empty classroom, trying to wrap his mind around everything he had just learned. Tracey was right behind him, glancing about before turning to speak to him.

"So I have to know…how did you_ not _know?"

He shrugged, "I'm serious, I never met a wizard till I was eleven years old. I never had any idea about my family. I thought they died in a car crash."

Tracey looked stunned, "You can't be serious."

"I am," he said, feeling defensive. "I grew up with my aunt and uncle. They were muggles."

"That's not possible," said Tracey, "You are the heir to one of Britain's oldest wizarding families, and you were raised in a muggle household?"

"Look," said Harry, "I don't know all the circumstances of why I ended up where I did, but I did, okay? Does it matter that much?"

Tracey didn't answer. She seemed to be too stunned to even try. The silence between the two of them stretched for a bit, until she spoke at last.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I have always assumed…everyone I know always assumed you grew up with a foster family. The Potter's had cousins, friends…I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," said Harry quickly.

Tracey sighed and looked at him, "Look Potter… Harry, I mean…I know that was all a bit much to take in, and that learning you are betrothed to me is quite a shock…but both my mother and father have been going on about it, and they want to know when you were planning the wedding, and who was going to pay, and so many other things."

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I don't know anything about getting married. I don't even want to get married."

"It's either that or dying," she pointed out, "and I really don't want to die. I doubt you do either."

Harry took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. He looked up, into the face of Tracey Davis, the girl he was apparently getting married to. "Do you even want to marry me?"

Her expression didn't change, "Of course I do. You're Harry Potter. When you come of age, you will be head of one of the oldest magical houses in Great Britain and executor of the twelfth largest fortune in all of Britain. How could I not be happy?"

He frowned, "And honestly?"

She sighed heavily, "I don't know."

He wanted to say something to comfort her, but didn't have the slightest clue where to begin. At last he said, "I'll try and figure something out. My friend Hermione, she's smart. She will know what to do."

"Don't hold your breath," said Tracey, "My dad will probably be paying you a visit soon enough." She turned and walked away, leaving a very shocked Harry standing there alone.

Harry was nearly back to the Griffindor common room by the time Hermione and Ron found him. He turned when Ron called out to him.

"Oy, mate!"

He stopped as his two best friends ran to catch up to him. "Hey."

"You all right?" said Ron anxiously.

Harry looked back and forth between Hermione and Ron. Both seemed very agitated. He sighed heavily, his shoulders falling.

"I just found out that I'm engaged, and if I don't follow through, I…I think I'm going to die."

Both Ron and Hermione looked at each other worriedly, hardly the reaction he had expected. His eyes narrowed.

"Both of you knew?" he almost screamed.

"We just found out!" said Hermione hastily. Ron hurriedly nodded in agreement. "We saw that you left with that Davis girl, and we were worried, but Neville blurted it all out…"

"What?" said Harry.

"Neville knew," said Ron.

"How?" Harry couldn't believe that Neville knew.

"It's all politics," explained Ron, "All of the great magical families are involved. Well, not the Weasleys. We haven't been important enough for a long while. But the Longbottom's are, or they were. I never would have guessed Neville was in the know."

"Tracey explained some of that to me," Harry mused, "but she said that it was all on a need to know basis. These marriages and alliances were supposed to be secrets. How would Neville know?"

"You could talk to him," Ron suggested. Hermione cut over him.

"So you talked to Tracey?" she said, half excitedly, half worriedly.

"Uh, yeah," said Harry. He felt sick as the memories came rushing back. "I don't feel so good."

"Let's head back," said Hermione, "Then we can sit and talk this out."

"Who else knows?" said Harry as they began walking.

"Just Neville and the two of us," said Ron, "Oh! And maybe Parvati too. I wasn't sure how close she was listening."

"Oh shit," said Harry.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Tracey Davis's day began just like any other. As usual she arrived ten minutes after the hour to avoid the initial rush at breakfast. She walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down with her closest friends, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass. "Good morning!" said Daphne as Tracey took her seat.

"Good morning," said Tracey with considerably less enthusiasm as she began filling her plate. In their first year she had been taken aback by Daphne's relentless positivity, but had learned to live with it. It was hard to stay in a funk with a friend like Daphne. As she ate, she noticed both sisters were watching her with identical grins.

"So Tracey," said Astoria, "we heard the good news."

"What's that?" said Tracey warily as she lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to her mouth.

"Harry Potter proposed! Let's see the ring!" said Daphne, giving her a playful push. Astoria burst out laughing. Tracey's spoon dropped to the table with a clatter as she stared at the both of them in horror.

After a moment, their laughter subsided. "Laugh," said Daphne, her smile faltering, "It's a joke."

"It's not funny," said Tracey as she glared at the two of them.

"What? That Harry Potter proposed to you?" said Astoria in confusion, "It's been going around the whole school. We thought it was hilarious."

"Are you serious? The whole school?" said Tracey. _That idiot!_

"Don't worry, nobody with half a brain actually believes it," said Astoria.

Tracey glowered down the length of the table, where Draco Malfoy and his friends were giggling amongst themselves. "That's what I'm worried about."

Daphne frowned. "Is something wrong? You don't seem like yourself."

"Nothing's wrong! Forget about it!" Tracey attacked her breakfast with doubled vigor.

Daphne and Astoria glanced at each other. "Look," said Daphne to Tracey, "Give it a few days and this will blow over. We'll stop talking about it, okay?"

Tracey didn't respond. Daphne sighed and looked at Astoria, who shrugged before turning to talk to the boy sitting next to her. Daphne frowned, and looked at her friend again as an idea, a very crazy idea, began to take root in her brain.

* * *

At the very moment realization began to dawn on young Daphne Greengrass, Neville Longbottom was in the school library, awaiting a certain Harry Potter. He drummed his fingers on the table and tried to ignore the suspicious glances of Madame Pince, who clearly had not believed him when he said he was simply there to do some early morning studying before classes started.

He didn't have to wait long for Harry, who arrived looking like he hadn't slept at all, which Neville supposed was fair. Between these recent developments and the Triwizard Tournament, he guessed Harry's plate was more than full. Harry sat down across from him and removed a pile of pastries from his pack which he pushed across the table to Neville.

"Sorry that you missed breakfast. These are from Ron's mum," he explained, "Don't let Pince see you." As Neville covertly began munching on a scone, Harry removed a compass from his pack and set it on the table between them.

"Why do you have a compass Harry?" said Neville warily.

"Hermione put some muffling charms on it," Harry explained, "All I need to do is give it three taps with my wand." He did just that. Nothing happened.

"How do we know it works?" said Neville.

Looking back at the librarian's desk, Harry yelled loudly, "Madame Pince is a stuffy old bat!" She looked up sharply and around for a few seconds, spared them a suspicious glare, and then resumed her reading. Harry turned back to Neville. "It works fine. Alright, Neville, I need some answers."

"Merlin, I really wish I hadn't opened my mouth yesterday," Neville said sadly.

"It's not your fault Parvati took it to Lavender. Anyways, we talked to the two of them last night, and they're already spreading counter-rumors. It's working pretty well."

"That's not it, Harry. I'm not supposed to know this stuff. If anyone were to find out that I was spreading it around…I would be in so much trouble."

"That's my first question," said Harry, "How do you know about this in the first place?"

Neville sighed, "My gram worked in the Gringotts auditing department for years. She used to bring the work home. I learned a lot of things I wasn't supposed to."

"Wait? The wizarding bank?" said Harry, "What have they got to do with this?"

Neville pushed the charmed compass around the tabletop with his finger, "Everything. Marriage contracts in the wizarding world are all arranged for the purposes of money and power. And that's all the goblins care about. They keep a careful record of every marriage agreement, and they never slip up."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "So this marriage contract between me and Tracey Davis…it's definitely real?"

"I swear, Harry," said Neville, "Unbreakable Vows are not something you joke about."

Harry shook his head, "Neville, I had never heard of Unbreakable vows till Tracey told me about them yesterday. How do you know so much?"

Neville shrugged, "My great-uncle Zebedee drilled this kind of stuff into me from the day I turned three. I can't remember half of it, but it's there. He actually talked about Unbreakable Vows a lot; he thought they were one step away from black magic."

"Really?" said Harry.

Neville nodded, "People think of unbreakable vows as just another magical contract, when they're really a curse. Think about it. Being under the effects of an unbreakable vow is like having a big sword hanging over your head, ready to drop as soon as you step out of line. I bet if you were to ask Moody, he would tell you the basic magic isn't much different than a killing curse. The problem is that no one has ever really treated of them as a curse, and it has lead to a lot of problems."

"So basically," said Harry slowly, "I'm cursed." He slumped in his seat, "This is insane. I always thought my grandfather was supposed to be one of the nice wizards. And now I find out he cursed dad and I."

"Harry, your granddad was old school. Not a bad man, just…" Neville hesitated, "Just old school. Using unbreakable vows to establish a betrothal agreement used to be all the rage back in the middle ages."

Harry swore quietly. Neville let him have his moment. After a minute of clenching and unclenching his fists, Harry looked up at Neville again. "Is there any way I can get out of it?" he asked.

"Maybe," said Neville. "The vow that your grandfather made obviously wasn't a simple one if it could be passed down from generation to generation. If you could get your hands on the original recording, I bet the parchment would be at least ten feet long. And that many words would mean there are a lot of loopholes."

"And if anyone could find a loophole," said Harry, "it would be Hermione."

"Right," said Neville, "And then it would be easy to find a way to make the unbreakable vow null and void."

"Sounds simple," said Harry.

"It's not. You would need to get the recording out of Gringotts. It's probably hidden in your family vault. And you are not old enough to demand anything out of those vaults."

"What if I threatened to take my business elsewhere when I turn seventeen?" said Harry.

Neville was incredulous. "You want to blackmail the goblins?"

That statement hung darkly in the air for a few moments, before Harry groaned, "I can't believe this. I am not ready to get married!"

Neville leaned forward, "Harry, you know what this is about, right?"

"I don't have a clue."

"Well, I'm going to tell to clue you in. The reason this is happening to you is because you are worth a lot of money."

Harry nodded slowly, "Tracey mentioned something about a family fortune."

"Right! You are sitting on the twelfth biggest pile of gold in Britain. And for the past thirty years, that pile of gold has been in a vault in Gringotts gathering dust. That all changes when you turn seventeen, Harry. You are heir apparent to one of the largest fortunes in the world and you aren't even legally an adult. That's unprecedented."

Harry stared at Neville, "What are you getting at?"

Neville leaned further forward, "Harry, people are going to have to go through you to get the Potter fortune, which means they will do whatever it takes to control you. Your grandfather may be dead, but there are plenty of people still living who are willing to use that unbreakable vow he created to get what they want from you. That's what this is about. Do you understand? You have got to be careful."

Harry stared at Neville. The pit of his stomach suddenly felt cold. They sat in silence for a long time.

At last Harry sighed, "This is way too much for me to deal with."

Neville put his hand on Harry's shoulder, "That's why we're here. You are not alone, Harry. We will figure this out."

Harry met Neville's earnest gaze; his friends face was genuine, entirely devoid of guile, full of confidence that things would work out. He felt a surge of gratitude for his friend. "Thanks mate."

Neville nodded, "Just be glad Tracey didn't have to be married before she turned twelve. You might have had to deal with all of this when you were eleven."

"That makes me feel so much better, Neville."

"Glad I could help, Harry."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass never claimed to be a deductive genius, but she knew Tracey well enough to make educated guesses about what was really going on in her head. She waited till Astoria left, before turning to Tracey. She watched her friend eat, unsure of how to phrase the question on her mind.

Try as she might, she couldn't find the right words, and instead ended up staring at Tracey with an unsettling look of concern and distress plastered across her face. Tracey finally put her spoon down and looked at her in annoyance. "What?"

Daphne swallowed, and jumped in. "Tracey, did Harry Potter propose to you for real?" Just saying the words out loud made the idea seem more absurd. Tracey Davis and Harry Potter had never even spoken to one another.

Startled, Tracy set her silverware down. "No, of course not."

Daphne nodded, feeling very foolish, "Right, I'm sorry, I just had a crazy thought, and…"

"It's a marriage contract," blurted out Tracey. The two friends stared at each other.

Daphne finally came to herself and did a triple-take. She looked around to make sure no one was listening, before scooting over, "What? You mean like one on paper?"

Tracey groaned, "Forget I said anything, please?"

Daphne persisted, "Did you have to sign in your own blood?

Tracey shook her head, "It wasn't that kind of contract."

"Then what…? No!" said Daphne in sudden realization.

Tracey nodded miserably.

"Holy shit, that's barbaric!" said Daphne, hugging her friend. "How the hell did that happen?"

"Oh you know, my grandfather and Potter's grandfather decided they had to ensure the success and continued longevity of their bloodlines, so they did the most obvious thing they could by buggering their descendants," Tracey said with unconcealed bitterness.

"When did this all start?" Daphne asked.

"I've known about it since I was five," said Tracey glumly, pushing her plate away. "I figured Harry did too. But he didn't. Did you know he was raised by muggles since he was a year old? So, yeah, I dropped the proverbial bombshell on him yesterday, and he didn't react well. He is sure his mudblood friend Granger is going to figure a way out of this."

Daphne hesitated, "Could she?"

"It wouldn't make a difference. My dad will do anything to see this marriage go through. And now this stupid rumor is going around! Potter just had to talk! I am so stressed right now. Why can't things go smooth in my life for once? " she said, wiping at her eyes.

"Come here," said Daphne pulling her close. They sat like that for a few moments of comparative peace and comfort. Unfortunately Slytherin students are drawn to drama like sharks are drawn to blood.

"What's going on?" The voice startled Daphne and she pulled away to see Millcent Bulstrode looking at the scene with an unhealthy curiosity. Daphne glared at her.

"Her owl died. Very tragic. It had been in the family for years," she snapped.

This would have been enough to dissuade Bulstrode from pursuing the matter any further, but unfortunately Draco Malfoy had taken notice as well. He leaned forward and yelled down the table, "What's the matter Davis? Did Potter call off the marriage already?"

Tracey straightened and fixed Draco with a glare that should have withered his soul; sadly, the effect was diminished by her red eyes and tangled hair. Draco, as always, remained oblivious to the rising tension. He plowed forward recklessly, "Let me guess, Davis. Potter didn't propose to you. You proposed to him, and he said no! How does it feel to be turned down by the mudblood lover?" Several Slytherins sitting next to him laughed loudly.

Daphne had always guessed that her best friend withheld a great deal of anger beneath her quiet demeanor. Still waters run deep, after all. She was dramatically proven right as Tracey leapt to the table, brandished her wand like a sword, and uttered a curse that made the dinnerware vibrate and tablecloth smoke.

As the bright vermillion bolt raced towards his face, Draco's eyes widened comically. With reflexes born of years as a Seeker, he hurled himself to the floor, and the spell passed over him, catching his crony Crabbe in the temple.

Pandemonium was instantaneous. No one who emerged from that brawl could say just why or how it spread so quickly, but within moments hundreds of students were firing spells here and there amidst a storm of flying food. The faculty was hardpressed to maintain a sense of order, and it wasn't until a skysplitting crack of thunder rattled the whole hall and McGonagall's cries of "Teacher down! Teacher down!" rang out that the chaos dissipated.

Dumbledore seemed uncharacteristically angry as he lowered his wand. Though his voice remained mild as he spoke, it carried an edge that set the hair on the back of everyone's necks on end. "Tracey Davis! Draco Malfoy! I will see you in my office now. The rest of you…" He paused as his gaze swept the panorama of carnage before him. "Please clean up this mess."

For years, most everyone present would agree that it was the most memorable breakfast ever during their time at Hogwarts.

* * *

Tracy sat outside the Headmaster's office, turning her wand over in her hands. Draco Malfoy had been inside for a quarter of the hour now, and she wondered just what Dumbledore was saying to him. She had never seen the Headmaster angry before. If anything, he seemed too much like an eccentric and kindly grandfather to ever lose his temper. But she had been wrong about people before. She sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening to watch over her till she was done here.

As she finished her prayer, the door opened and Draco exited. He didn't even look at her as he practically ran down the stairs.

"Miss Davis, please come in," came Dumbledore's voice from within. She quickly stood and did so, closing the door behind her. She found herself within a surprisingly small, cozy office, packed full of shelves that in turn were full of books and oddities. Wherever there were no shelves, there were portraits; hundred of them, with most of their occupants sleeping. A small fire burned merrily in the corner while some exotic bird sat on a perch near the window, preening itself. She wanted to examine it more closely, but the Headmaster spoke.

"Please Miss Davis, have a seat," he said, gesturing towards a blue chair in front of his desk.

She sat, finding the chair surprisingly comfortable. As she settled herself into it, the Headmaster held a small bag out in her direction. "Lemon drop?" he said.

"Um, no thank you, sir," she said before she could even consider the offer.

"Ah. A pity. Neither did Mister Malfoy." He popped a single drop into his mouth before emptying the sack into a crystal dish on his desk. He then clasped his hands together and looked at her. "Miss Davis, do you know why you are here?"

"Probably because I started a massive brawl during breakfast," she said after a moment.

"That is certainly part of the reason you are here," said the Headmaster, "Professor Moody is lucky to be merely unconscious I think. The man is tough, I will give him that. Tell me, just what happened that made you attack Mister Malfoy?"

"Draco was trying to make me angry. I was under a lot of stress, and he got the best of me," she said.

"I see. Well, I cannot fault you for that Miss Davis," said Dumbledore with a sigh, "Mister Malfoy has a talent for making people angry, a talent which he is aware of and abuses frequently. Hopefully after today he will curb his enthusiasm for stirring up trouble where there is none. But I digress. You mentioned you have been under a lot of stress. May I ask what the reason is?"

She said the first thing that popped into her mind. "My owl died."

"Really? That is unfortunate," said Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow.

"Um, yes. My friends can back me up."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I am sure they would, Miss Davis. However, I have something else I want to discuss with you. May I please see your wand?" Wordlessly she handed it to him. He looked at it carefully. "Ten and one-half inches. Elm. Unicorn hair. A very good wand for charms." He pulled out his own wand and cast a quick spell over her wand.

A ghostly image burst from the end of her wand, a whispy bolt of vermillion which hung in the air for a moment before fading like smoke. "This," said Dumbledore quietly, "is not a charm. Tell me, Miss Davis, where did you learn this curse?"

She sighed, "From my father."

"Ah. A family spell."

"Yes."

"Indeed. I must say, Miss Davis, this spell is unique. I have only seen its like once before."

She frowned. "How?"

Dumbledore handed her wand back to her. "It is not the same spell; just very similar. I had a friend once who had an insatiable appetite for learning new things. He was always searching for new magic, new spells to harm others, which I was too blind to see at the time of our friendship. He developed a spell, quite similar to the one you used this morning. He used it to terrible effect before I intervened. Tell me, where did this spell come from?"

Tracey hesitated. Her father would definitely disapprove of her sharing family histories with Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore spoke again, his voice soft, "Miss Davis…you used this spell on a fellow student. This information may be crucial in Madame Pomfrey's work in the infirmary with Mister Crabbe. Do you understand?"

Feeling a stab of guilt in her gut, Tracey volunteered the information, "My great-great grandfather studied boggarts for years before he developed the spell. The spell does the same thing as a boggart does, except you can't escape. It traps the victim inside their minds with their own fears."

Dumbledore nodded slowly as she finished. "The effects of a boggart, even when amplified, are well within Madame Pomfrey's capacity to heal. Such healing takes time, however. Miss Davis, I hope you understand just how serious the consequences of using this sort of magic can be. The mind is a fragile thing. This spell could easily have cost Vincent Crabbe his sanity. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," she said, staring at the floor between her feet.

Dumbledore leaned forward, "Please, please, never use this spell again in this school. And though I have no say in your life outside these walls, I would advise you to never use it there either. To destroy the mind of another beyond repair invites powerful guilt."

She nodded, still not looking up. "I understand."

The Headmaster sighed and pulled out a piece of parchment which he proceeded to scribble on. "Very well, Miss Davis. Please return to class; here's a note to give to Professor Sprout."

"Thank you, sir," said Tracey. She took the note from his outstretched hand, and left quickly. As she descended the stairs, she passed a harried looking Madame Pomfrey. She didn't even acknowledge Tracey as she hurried up the stairs to the Headmaster's office. Again, Tracey felt a stab of guilt as she thought of Crabbe. Stuffing the note into her pocket she set off towards the green houses.


	3. Chapter 3

"Albus," said Professor Snape, his voice steeped in sarcasm, "I am impressed. Each person you appoint to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is more ludicrous than the last. Since you appointed Quirrel , this school has seen a fraud, a werewolf, and now a death eater disguised as a lunatic. You have outdone yourself."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. Never before had he felt more his age. He removed his spectacles and began cleaning them. It was eleven o clock in the evening, and he, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall had just finished the interrogation of the man they had believed to be Professor Alastor Moody.

Along with Madame Pomfrey, the three of them watched the young man seated in front of them, bound to the chair, peacefully unconscious. Barty Crouch Jr certainly did not look the part of a villain; his boyish good looks and blue eyes spoke innocence, and they had even fooled Dumbledore once before when the boy was sent to Azkaban. But to hear him rave and rant as he had only minutes before…

"Where was he hiding the polyjuice? How could he have tricked everyone for so long?" said Madame Pomfrey. She looked frazzled. It wasn't too often that her patients transformed into escaped psychopaths.

"I suspect if you were to look inside his hip flask," said Professor McGonagall, "you would find your answer. We need to find poor Alastor. He will never the same after this."

"According to young Crouch, he's been locked inside his own trunk this entire time. Months. How could I have missed this?" said Dumbledore.

For a moment Dumbledore looked like nothing more than a tired, old, man; there was no hint of the legendary man whom even Voldemort feared. Then the moment passed as he donned his spectacles, determination in his eyes. "Professor Snape, I need you to retrieve Alastor, and then contact the Minister of Magic. He needs to see this."

"What about Potter?" said Snape.

"He must be kept safe. Lord Voldemort will have realized by now that something has happened to Crouch and will be changing his plans as we speak. He wants Harry alive, and we cannot allow that to happen," said Dumbledore firmly.

Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, I need you to start contacting the old crowd. Voldemort has not regained his body yet, but he is gathering his forces. Now is the time for the Order to act. We cannot afford to let him return to full strength."

She nodded. "Of course Albus."

"You have your instructions. I will wait here with Mister Crouch until you return," said Dumbledore, turning again to look at the young man who had infiltrated Hogwarts so easily.

As soon as Snape and McGonagall were gone, Madame Pomfrey returned to the infirmary to tend to the students there, leaving the Headmaster of Hogwarts alone with his thoughts. Beneath his tired exterior, Dumbledore's mind was racing, making plans within plans. In a single moment, the game had changed, and now he had to change as well. The future of the wizarding world depended on it.

* * *

The next morning the sun dawned upon a world turned white. The night had delivered a fresh snowfall, leaving a pristine shell of snow. The silence was broken only by the crunching of two pairs of boots upon the snow as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley trudged their way to the owlery. Their breath came in puffs of white. After what seemed like forever, they reached the stairs, and began the climb. About half-way up they stopped to take a break and sat down on the steps, taking deep gulps of the icy air, both privately suspecting they needed to exercise more.

"Harry, this is ridiculous," said Ron after he caught his breath.

"Yeah," said Harry. The two of them were silent for a moment as they enjoyed the view. The sun reflected brilliantly upon the snow, turning the world into a blaze of light. It was beautiful.

"Look," said Ron suddenly, pointing towards the lake. Harry raised his hand to shade his eyes and saw what Ron was pointing at. The Durmstrang ship was locked on all sides by ice. On one side a small hole had been cut through the ice near the hull, revealing the black water beneath. As they watched, a lone figure mounted the railing of the ship, steadied itself for a moment, and then plunged over the edge and into the darkness below. Both Harry and Ron shivered.

"Krum is mad," muttered Ron as he stood, "Someday the squid is going to get him."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, standing as well. They continued up the stairs.

"You know something, Harry?"

"What Ron?"

"Neither of us have found dates to the Yule Ball."

"Don't remind me." Truth be told, finding a date had gone from the top of Harry's priorities all the way to the bottom in the past few days. Ron was right however; he needed to quit banking on some miracle to deliver him from his duties as a Triwizard Champion and find a date.

They finally arrived at the Owlery and unraveled their scarves. Harry's glasses immediately fogged up. As he wiped them off with his scarf he made a mental note to have Hermione charm them again. He removed an envelope from his coat and tied it to the leg of a waiting Eagle Owl. After he finished, the owl hooted and took off in a flurry of wings, a few feathers trailing behind.

"Well I guess that's that," said Harry.

"Do you think Padfoot will be able to help?" said Ron.

"I hope so. He knew my grandfather better than anyone else I know. Maybe he'll have an idea of how to sort out this mess."

Harry was counting on Sirius's help. Things had been growing steadily crazier at Hogwarts since the week began. Apparently there had been a riot at breakfast yesterday. Madeye Moody had been hit by three stunners from the student body, and no one had any idea what his actual condition was. The latest rumor Harry had heard was that he had been shipped off to Mungos in an attempt to reunite his head with his body. Ron was convinced that Malfoy had transformed him into a ferret. Hermione had not been impressed with that theory.

"That's ridiculous," she had said, "You and I were there, Ron. We saw them take him away. He was completely fine, and he was obviously not a ferret."

"I know that," Ron said defensively. He seized Hermione's transfiguration text book, glanced at the index, and then flipped to a page which he presented to her triumphantly. "Delayed transfigurations. They can take up to twelve hours to take effect. Third Paragraph down."

"Ron, I think what the real problem with your theory is that you are assuming Malfoy's pea-brain could handle the magic necessary to transfigure Moody in the first place," said Hermione.

"Well, I can't argue with that," said Ron as Hermione returned to her homework.

Harry had spent that evening discussing what he had learned from Neville with Hermione and Ron. Hermione had immediately taken it upon herself to become an expert in wizarding law. She had already cornered Neville and dragged him off to the library early this morning.

It was at breakfast that Harry decided to write Sirius. Of all the adults he knew, he trusted his godfather the most to give him sensible advice. So he had quickly written down a note explaining the situation, and now here they were. He glanced at his watch.

"We're already late for transfiguration," he said. They had badly underestimated how much the snow would slow them down.

"Let's go," said Ron.

By the time they made it back to the castle, there was only twenty minutes of class left. Ron and Harry decided it wasn't worth risking McGonagall's wrath by arriving late and chose to face her tomorrow instead. They returned to their dormitories and deposited their winter gear before returning to the main hall just in time for the rush.

Hermione came running up to them. "You missed class," she accused.

"Not on purpose, Hermione," said Ron defensively. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Harry.

"Harry, you have missed too many classes already this week! I know that you have a lot going on, but you cannot keep this up."

"I won't miss anymore," he promised quickly before she flew into a rant.

"Good," she said, "What do you have going on now?"

"We have a free period," said Ron.

"I have to go to my Arithmancy class. Do you two want to tag along?" They shook their heads. "Okay, then I will see you at lunch. Neville and I found some interesting stuff. We'll talk about it later." She waved a brief goodbye and was gone in the rush of students. Harry and Ron collapsed on the stone benches near the windows.

As the traffic of students began to thin, Harry saw Cho Chang walking with Cedric Diggory. He hadn't thought about her for over a week now; seeing her brought a distinctly unpleasant feeling to his gut. It must have showed on his face because Ron followed his gaze. The two of them watched Cho and Cedric walk down the hallway, laughing together, until they turned a corner and were gone.

"Don't worry Harry," said Ron, "It'll pass."

"It's fine," Harry lied.

"Alright, that's it," Ron said. "We need dates to the Yule Ball, or we're both going to look like idiots." He turned to Harry. "We are both going to find someone before dinner tonight. Deal?"

"I don't know about that," said Harry hesitantly.

"Harry, you need to commit to this goal. If you don't commit, it'll never happen. Charlie taught me that," Ron urged.

"Alright Ron," Harry said grumpily, "I promise to ask someone before dinner. Happy?"

"Halfway there. Now I have to find a date," said Ron as he stood, his face a mask of determination, "And I know just the girl. Here goes nothing." And with those words he strode off.

Harry watched him go. Ron was right. If he didn't do something quick, he would end up opening the ball all by himself. That would be a disaster. At that very moment Parvati Patil swooped down and sat next to him.

"Harry, how are you doing?" she bubbled.

"Just great, Parvati. What's going on?"

"Well, I thought you would like to know that Lavender and I successfully defused the situation," she said proudly, "There is so much false information going around that nobody has the slightest idea what is really happening between you and that Davis girl. I talked to a girl in Hufflepuff, and she was convinced that you and Tracey eloped in Paris last summer."

Harry wasn't sure if that rumor was any better than the actual truth, but it was the thought that counted. He smiled at her. "Thanks Parvati. I really appreciate that."

She giggled, much to his consternation. "I thought you would! Just remember any secret of yours is safe with me."

Harry could have argued that point, but he didn't. The idea of Parvati Patil being one of his secret keepers was too much of an anathema for him to dwell on it for long. Instead he nodded and began stuffing his papers away. Parvati continued talking.

"Have you adjusted to the idea of marriage yet?"

He grimaced. The idea had become something of inevitability in his mind, but when Parvati said so bluntly the initial feelings of dread returned in full force.

"I am pretty sure that I'm not ever going to adjust to the idea," he said honestly, stuffing another book inside his bag.

Parvati frowned. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?"

"I've never been more worried in my life," Harry said.

"Well, you shouldn't worry. It's just marriage," said Parvati matter-of-factly.

Harry goggled at her. "I'm sorry?"

Parvati scooted closer, "Look me in the eyes, and I'll explain."

"Okay," he said hesitantly.

"Seriously. Look me in the eyes," she insisted.

Harry sighed and did so. "This is awkward," he muttered.

"That's okay. This is important. Harry, do you love Tracey?"

He frowned, "No."

"Is she your friend?"

"Not really."

"Do you even know her as a person?"

"Not at all."

"Then what kind of commitment are you making in this marriage?"

Harry blinked, "I don't know."

"The answer is you aren't making a commitment. Sure, it'll look pretty on paper, and that's about it. You and Tracey might as well be shaking hands for all it'll matter. You are over thinking this. It's just not that complicated."

Harry sighed, "Parvati, that's not right."

"And why is that?" she huffed.

"Parvati, no matter how you spin it, marriage is serious business, whether or not you love the person."

She threw her hands up in the air, "Oh my god! Harry, you are so chivalrous you might as well have stumbled out of Camelot! It would be disgusting if it wasn't so cute."

Harry stood to leave. "Thanks for the advice Parvati, but I need to run."

She stood as well, "Quick, before you go! Do you have a date to the Yule Ball?"

Harry groaned, "No, I don't. Everyone seems to keep reminding me about that."

"Well, don't feel bad about it. Neither do I. My sister and Lavender both wanted to set me up with some of their friends, but I was holding out on someone else, so now I'm stuck." She seemed nervous. He wondered why.

"That's too bad," said Harry with as much consolation as he could muster. She watched him expectantly. He wasn't sure what she wanted him to say.

"Harry," she said, at last, "the solution to your problem is pretty obvious, don't you think?"

Harry felt confused. "What do you mean?"

Parvati rolled her eyes, "What I'm saying is that the girl you should ask is right in front of you."

Harry stared at her, the gears of his mind spinning wildly. Then everything fell into place. "You're saying I should ask Tracey," he said.

She frowned. "Harry, I…"

He went on. "How can I ever expect to marry someone that I don't even know? I need to get to know her, I need to be her friend, and…" Harry paused, startled by his own train of thought, "who knows what could happen after that." He looked at Parvati, a grin spreading across his face. "You are a genius! Thanks Parvati, I have to go find her." And with that he turned and left her standing there.

Parvati watched him depart, unable to believe what had just happened. After a moment she shook her head and left, wondering not for the first or last time why boys were so thick. She should have listened to Lavender.

* * *

The Slytherin Fourth Years had just finished Astronomy, and were pouring out, grumbling about the massive load of homework Professor Sinistra had assigned.

"I wonder what's gotten into her," Daphne said irritably as she and Tracey walked together. As she complained, something caught her eye. "Look at that," she said in a fierce whisper.

Tracey looked just in time to Ron Weasley walk by, a nervous look on his face. She frowned. "It's Weasley, so what?"

"Draco never misses a chance to pick at Weasley," said Daphne, nodding at Malfoy who was just a little bit ahead of them. "He didn't even open his mouth. I bet Dumbledore threatened to expel him."

"Anything is possible," Tracey said thoughtfully.

"What I would give to be a fly on the wall," said Daphne wistfully, "I bet the Headmaster imperiused him."

Tracey snorted. "Right."

As they kept walking, Daphne leaned over and muttered into Tracey's ear, "Don't look now, but your boyfriend is following us."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "He's not my boyfriend," she said firmly, "He's my fiancée." She turned around.

"Yes Potter?" she said curtly.

Startled, Harry came to a halt and almost tripped over himself. He regained his balance and took a deep breath. "Hey Tracey." He nodded at Daphne, who was smirking at his expense. "Hey."

"Daphne Greengrass. It's a pleasure Mister Potter," she said, extending her hand. Harry shook it uncertainly.

"What do you want, Harry?" Tracey said impatiently.

Stealing himself, he looked her in the eyes and asked, "Tracey, do you have a date to the Yule Ball?"

Startled by the question, she looked at Daphne, who simply smiled. She looked back at Harry. "Uh, no. I don't. Why?"

"Well, I was wondering if you would like to go with me," said Harry nervously.

She looked back at him, panic growing on her face. "Um, I, uh…" she stuttered.

Before she could go any further, a drawling voice cut in, causing all three of them to whirl in time to see Professor Snape gliding towards them.

"Mister Potter, I hate to interrupt your social life, but the Headmaster has requested that you come to his office. Immediately," he said cooly. He looked down at Tracey and Daphne. "Davis, Greengrass, quit dawdling and get to class. Potter, follow me." He swept off.

As Harry turned to follow Snape, he looked at Tracey. "Let me know!" he said as he trotted away.

When they were gone, Daphne shook her head in wonder. "Professor Snape can be such a prick." She looked over at Tracey. "By the way, the correct answer to the question was 'Yes, I'd love to."

Tracey moaned, "I didn't mean to look stupid! He took me off guard!"

"Practice, practice, practice," said Daphne, "Come on, we're going to be late."

* * *

Harry had known better then to ask Snape what was going on, tempting as it was. It would have just invited the usual derisive remarks from the Professor. As it was he was hard-pressed to keep up Snape, who seemed determined to get to the Headmaster's office as quickly as possible. After the gargoyles protecting the entrance stepped aside, they took the stairs two at a time, and Snape didn't even bother to knock before entering.

The moment the door closed behind him, Harry realized why they had been in such a hurry. He found a hand seizing his own and vigorously shaking it. The hand was attached to a short man with a round face and a green bowler hat.

"Harry, m'boy glad to see you. Come in, come in!" said Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. He lead Harry to a chair. "Is that everyone Albus?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, who was standing behind his desk. Harry looked around. The room was seemed to have expanded to contain a large number of people. He saw Ludo Bagman, Percy Weasley, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Krum, Fleu Delacour, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Cedric, Professor Sprout, a huge black man and petite woman he did not know, and, of course, Dumbledore. Nearly all of them seemed displeased to be there. Harry tried to catch Percy's eye, but the older Weasley brother either did not notice or did not acknowledge him.

"What is the meaning of this Dumbledore?" snapped Karkaroff. He had his hand on Krum's shoulder. Krum glanced over at Harry, his eyebrow raised in question. Harry shrugged to let him know he had no idea what this was about.

"Yesterday morning," said Dumbledore, "Professor Alastor Moody was rendered unconscious."

"We know zat," said Madame Maxime derisively, "by your own students, no less."

Dumbledore continued. "Madame Pomfrey allowed the Professor to remain unconscious as she treated him for a cracked skull. This proved to be fortuitous because the polyjuice potion he had consumed ceased to take affect an hour later, revealing the impostor of the real Alastor Moody."

A surge of gasps and cries of "Surely not!" filled the small room; Harry sat up, wondering if he had heard correctly.

"Someone was impersonating Alastor?" said Professor Sprout, "For how long?"

"Since the beginning of the school year," said Dumbledore grimly, "Some of you might know the impersonator: Barty Crouch Jr. He has tricked us all."

Barty Crouch Jr? Wasn't he dead? _This is mad,_ thought Harry. This meant the Moody that had taught them all year had been a fake. But why?

As the voices of those present began echoing Harry's thoughts, Dumbledore looked at Fudge. "Would you care to explain further, Cornelius?"

The Minister of Magic did not appear to want to do so, but he nodded. "Of course, Albus. The Ministry had assumed Mister Crouch to have died some time ago in Azkaban after he was convicted of heinous crimes in the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but unfortunately, it seems he was able to escape Azkaban with…with outside help." He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Under the effects of Veritaserum, Mister Crouch confessed that he was acting in the name of Lord Voldemort. It was he who put young Mister Potter's name in the Triwizard Cup."

Everyone turned to look at Harry. Karkaroff was the first to speak. "I told you! He shouldn't even be in this competition! Disqualify him and be done with it!"

"Now wait a minute," said Bagman, "Let's not be hasty! We have this lunatic in chains, right? And besides, we have already covered this, Potter has to participate!"

Dumbledore coughed politely. Everyone shut up. "I don't believe the Minister was done speaking."

"Right," said Fudge, looking more uncomfortable by the minute, "We have reason to believe…that is to say the evidence is very strong…we believe Crouch was not acting alone. The whole intent of putting Mister Potter's name in the cup was to kidnap him. These…these men had inside knowledge pertaining to the Tournament, and intended to capture Harry in the third challenge."

"Are you saying they are still at large?" said Baggins. "And they still intend to try and capture Mister Potter?"

"Yes," said Fudge, removing his hat to fiddle with the brim.

Everyone turned to stare at Harry once more. He felt sick. If Tracey telling him they were engaged had been a bad joke, this one took the cake. All thoughts of marriage, family gold, Yule Balls, and everything suddenly ceased to become important.

Professor Sprout broke the silence. "Will the Triwizard Tournament continue?"

"Of course," said Fudge, who seemed eager to talk about something positive, "No reason to put a halt to it after all this hard work. It will just have to continue without Mister Potter."

Both Madame Maxime and Karakaroff looked at Harry with unconcealed triumph.

"What?" said Bagman, his voice cracking, "He has to participate, hasn't he?"

"Mister Potter will remain a nominal champion, Ludo," said Professor McGonagall, "but for his own safety he cannot be allowed to take that kind of risk in these circumstances."

"Right!" said Fudge, "And for that reason we have assigned two of our finest Aurors," He nodded at the man and woman that Harry didn't recognize, "to protect him until this unfortunate business is cleared up."

Ludo Bagman was sputtering. "But…but that show against the Horntail! It was magnificent! You can't just bar him from going on. Doesn't he have a say in this?"

Once again all eyes were on Harry. In spite of himself, Harry found himself agreeing with Bagman. He had endured scorn and alienation from his schoolmates and nearly been eaten by a dragon thanks to this Tournament. Moody, or Crouch, or whoever it was had been playing him and everyone else in the room, but Harry was still here and he was still alive. And now it was going to end like this? He didn't care how many times he had wished that he wasn't in the Tournament. Unwillingly or not he had earned his place here. He opened his mouth to speak, and then Dumbledore caught his eye.

"Harry is one of the bravest young men I know," said the venerable Headmaster in a calm voice, "and has proven himself a worthy champion on more occasions than I can recount to you. And he understands that there is more here at stake than winning a trophy. I think it would be well for all of you to do the same."

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Harry saw Krum looking at him again, his face unreadable. He glanced at Fleur Delacour, who seemed impressed and confused. Cedric too was watching him. Harry suddenly wanted to be alone.

"Very well then," said Fudge, who had ceased fiddling with his bowler and returned it to his head. "The tournament will go on until further notice. If you would all be along now, I believe the Headmaster and I have a bit more to discuss. Shacklebolt, Tonks, would you please accompany Mister Potter to his next class?"

"Yes, Minister, sir," said the small woman with an enthusiastic salute. Harry suddenly realized that she had bright pink hair. She grinned at Harry, and he smiled uncertainly in return. Before they could leave, Dumbledore spoke.

"Harry, I need to speak with you this evening." Cornelius Fudge looked sharply at the Headmaster.

Harry nodded. 'Yes Professor."

"Dumbledore…" murmured Fudge, clearly displeased.

Albus ignored him. "I will see you at seven o clock, Harry."

Harry was just able to nod before he was ushered out by his two new companions. As they descended the stairs, he remembered asking Tracey to the Yule Ball. He wondered what her answer would be. He found he was too drained to care.

The pink haired auror sidled up next to him and nudged him in the shoulder. "So, you're the famous Harry Potter?"

"Uh, yeah," said Harry. She was actually even smaller than he originally had thought. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't picture her fighting alongside the likes of Moody. Shacklebolt on the other hand…the man was the size of small mountain. He noticed Harry looking at him and winked.

"Tonks and I make quite the pair, huh Potter?" he said, his voice a jovial rumble.

"It's a classic bad-cop-bad-cop duo," said Tonks.

"There's only one bad-cop here," said Shacklebolt, "and it isn't me."

"He's a big softy," said Tonks affectionately. "Take it from me, he likes hugs."

Harry smirked, and Tonks laughed. "There it is!" she said, punching him in the shoulder, "I can't believe it, I finally get to meet the Boy who Lived! Now let's just keep you that way, okay?"


End file.
